As Tilda glanced…

As Tilda glanced at a bare section of the floor, a divan and two ornate armchairs appeared there out of thin air. The two women took the chairs, leaving Abrem the divan. As they sat, the Seer cleared his throat.

“Before I begin, I want to …” He stopped speaking and looked down at the floor, his eyelids fluttering.

“You first saw this vision when she was born,” Tilda abruptly chanted. Her eyes, momentarily glassy, returned to full sternness.

“Yes …”Abrem smiled, but he did not look up.

“You were instructed to wait—” Tilda chanted again, the glassiness returning. She didn’t finish the sentence.

Paciencia did that. “—until I had received it! You have known all this time!”

“And I did not,” Tilda said. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I would have liked to have known.” The statement was not accusatory, but a gentle entreatment. It was not directed at the Seer.

Abrem sighed. As he looked up at Tilda, his expression matched hers.

“I have long said that I am not so much a seer as I am a safe—a keeper of knowledge until it is granted and bestowed.”

“Can you tell me what it means?” Paciencia asked.